Desolate Affections
by fluffy kitty of darkness
Summary: With living off of scraps and traveling, it hung from her finger — a desolate memory. Merope grasped the ring and pulled it off.


The Quidditch League Forum Competition / Season 6  


Position: Captain  


Team: Kenmare Kestrels  


Prompt - Write about a dark character needing comfort or affection.

I wrote about Merope Gaunt. This story takes place shortly after it's discovered that Merope is pregnant. I want to thank my beta's for this round — desertredwolf, _Dessie —_ CelestialRoseGold, _Cel_ and — ValkyrieAce, _Ky-chan._ Thank you so much, you guys.

* * *

The night was silent.

It was a startling contrast to moments earlier, when she had desperately tried to salvage any form of love or affection in her husband's eyes. Magic wasn't one to linger for long but to her, Riddle's realization had been quicker and more heart-breaking than she had anticipated.

Merope Gaunt held her hand up to the light of the full moon and restrained a sob.

The ring glinted at her like a flame.

* * *

Traveling took its toll on her. A journey that would've taken merely a day, took weeks. In her mind, Merope could've easily believed it took months. Her energy was no longer spent on providing for one, so she tired quickly. Often times, her hand would travel down to her stomach, and she would cast a warming charm over herself and her child.

She came across an old man who gave her bread and water. He invited her onto the front steps of his house and coaxed her softly into telling him her story.

Merope wasn't delusional enough to convince herself that the real story wasn't pathetic. While taking a small sip of water to calm her burning throat, she said, "I trusted in love."

The old man then fell silent. Whether it was because of her bitter tone or he simply didn't care enough to help her for long, she didn't know. He sent her away before the sun started to set and the chill swept through the wind.

That's when the warming charms started to fade.

Merope had never been proficient in doing magic for long and being pregnant was a severely draining component to her.

That's when she stopped in the village. She sat down on the ground and ignored the sounds of children playing in the alleyways. They were Muggles — not worth worrying about at the moment. With shaking hands, she brought out a mirror she had been carrying since she had been tossed away from the mansion. Merope forced her eyes to focus on the unfamiliar portrait.

Drained eyes looking over a crooked nose. She patted down her stringy hair, fixing it the best she could, and felt a strange sense of calming normalcy from the action. The reflection tilted slightly, and she noticed that the mirror was cracked down the side.

"Useless," she muttered, before throwing it away.

* * *

Before long, Merope found herself in another village. It was louder and it made her head pound. If she had been in perfect health and younger, Merope would've fought the urge to curse everyone in sight. Muggle or not. Witch or wizard. It hardly mattered because everyone was cheery. Everyone was leading better lives than her.

Everyone was _better._

It made her skin crawl.

When she looked to her side a laughing child was being chased by his siblings and he collided into her. He sent her a foolish grin as an apology, but Merope pushed him to the ground harshly. He was a Muggle.

 _Disgusting._

Merope took a few steps back until another sight caught her eyes.

"Hey!" Merope shouted, stumbling slightly forward. All her attention was directed at a young woman holding a basket of fruit. "Give me that."

The woman watched her warily, as did everyone in nearby shops. "I don't un—"

Merope held out her hand and ordered. "The fruit. Give it to me."

There was a spark of compassion in the eyes of the lady as she handed over an apple, but Merope let the fruit fall to the ground. That's not what she wanted. Merope grabbed the basket harshly. "I want _all_ of it."

The other woman shook her head. "I can't give you all of it."

Once upon a time, Merope might've overpowered her, but she hardly had the strength anymore. She was easily pushed away and her hand twitched towards her wand. Her breathing was uneven and her vision was fading, but that was enough to force her to scream out.

"Give it to me!"

The glass window on the shop behind her shattered. A mother standing nearby with her children started to scream, and Merope could no longer keep her focus on anything. She dropped her eyes to the ground. There were whispers circling the air around her — _"Witch. Danger_ \- _Keep her away."_

The world came crashing back down her as a firm hand latched itself on her wrist. The woman with the fruit basket was staring at her sternly. "You are a witch?"

Merope nodded.

"Leave." Her grip tightened but Merope couldn't draw herself away. "This town is full of Muggles. It was foolish to lose control like that."

She could hear louder shouts approach. More people were coming — and they were coming for her. Many late nights her father would frighten her with tales of what Muggles could do if they found out about their magic. The horrors they would put her through.

Still her legs refused to move. The lady gave her a harsh shake and hissed, "Do you want to die?"

Merope breathed in. No, she didn't. This was not how her family survived.

"I want..." She blinked back tears that were threatening to fall. "... I want my husband." Her hands grabbed the lady's sleeve desperately. "Please... take me home."

She shook her head and confessed. "I can't do that. But I won't let you die like this." Merope was pushed forward with a final whisper — _"Run."_

With a stumbling start, Merope started to run and she didn't dare look back. Not with the memory of the woman's touch burning on her wrist.

* * *

As the seasons changed, Merope found less and less people willing to help. The bitterness and envy easily crept through her walls, and bitter pregnant young women weren't welcomed anywhere.

She collapsed on the steps of an orphanage.

Out of a long lost habit, she patted through her torn bag for her mirror, before remembering that she had thrown it away many months ago. With a faltering hand, Merope patted her hair down even if she couldn't see it.

 _This is what I'm living for now._

Merope curled her arm around her stomach for some form of comfort, and her ring glinted at her.

It reminded her of Riddle's eyes. Warm eyes glinting at her as he held her in his arms. Her previous life that had been perfect as every dream she had ever had as a small girl. She wanted him.

She didn't want the comfort of an old man talking to her, or the gratitude towards a stranger for saving her life. Merope wanted Tom.

Tom

Tom

 _Tom_

Merope stood up from the steps but she lost focus, and fell back down unsteadily. It was impossible to prevent the sudden influx of self-loathing that the failure of such a simple action had.

She focused on the glinting ring on her finger. It once had fitted firmly on her finger and looked beautiful. With living off of scraps and traveling, it hung from her finger — a desolate memory. Merope grasped the ring and pulled it off.

But an ugly form of fear struck her and she placed it back on her finger.

It was the only part of her that was still pure and beautiful. It was the truth that this child was born to someone such as Tom Riddle and her. This wasn't the affection she longed for, and it was a poor substitute. But this was her now, and she wouldn't throw it away.

Merope lifted her hand to the air, watching the sun reflect off the gold, and muttered under her breath, "Useless."


End file.
